


Taking Space Up In Our Heads

by theichkeilanch



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, F/F, Faberry, HBIC!Rachel, brittana, quinntana friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theichkeilanch/pseuds/theichkeilanch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn transfers to William McKinley High School for the Arts from Carmel with the help of her not quite estranged aunt Holly Holiday after things back home get rough. Rachel, the daughter of known Broadway stars and a Hollywood director, has the school wrapped around her fingers. Quinn proves to be the exception. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_If we forget the things we know_  
would we have somewhere to go?  
( **My Interpretation** ; Mika)

**Prologue**

"Why won't you just join glee club? Clearly, it isn't for the lack of talent. We've heard you sing and we've seen you perform. Obviously, you have what it takes or you would not have been part of Vocal Adrenaline. I just don't get why this time around, you choose to forget that you were once part of a nationally-acclaimed show choir."

All Quinn wants at this point is to walk away. She's been subjected to Rachel Berry's incessant hounding all of the three months since she's transferred to McKinley and she was just getting tired of the attention. Why couldn't the glee club captain just accept that she refuses to be part of their show choir – or any other show choir, for that matter – and just let her go her own way? It's not like New Directions needed the added person swaying in the background while almost half of the club fought for solos. There is just _that much_ talent in New Directions; unsurprising, considering they'd bagged the national championships five years in a row now. Quinn knows for a fact that whether or not she's part of the team is inconsequential.

Also, she just isn't interested. Not anymore.

"I just don't want to be in glee," she sighs. She just wants to be left alone. And she really needs to be going to her next class or she'll be late. "I need to go, Rachel."

Quinn tries to move around the path that Rachel's blocking, but just as she's about to do that, the other girl moves to block her path once again, and this time, Quinn physically stops herself a second away from actually pushing the other girl away from her. Latent violent tendencies aside, it certainly isn't practical (or wise) to do anything even vaguely untoward against McKinley High's resident star. Especially since she's only been a student here for a few months and Rachel Berry's parents have their faces posted behind a glass case in one of the school's many hallways.

"Give me one good reason why you refuse to join New Directions," a pause, and then Rachel stands a bit taller (not by much really) in obvious indignation. "Actually, make that three. Give me three good reasons why you'd rather blend in with the crowd than be part of the national show choir championship team. This is a great opportunity, and we both know it. I don't make it a habit to offer a spot in the team to just anyone, Quinn Fabray. There are a lot of other students in this school who would love to be in your position right now."

Quinn looks the other girl straight in the eye, hands clutching the strap of her shoulder bag tightly. "Then give them the spot. I told you. I don't want it."  
Rachel crosses her arms, "Why not?"

"I don't have to give you any number of reasons why I don't want to join your team," then she looks away, somewhere behind the girl, but nowhere in particular. "I just don't. Let it go."

"You're the youngest person in Vocal Adrenaline history to have ever been given a solo in a nationals competition. Jesse didn't have to tell me anything to know that that was a huge accomplishment on your part. Almost as big as me being the youngest ever co-captain of New Directions. I can't let that kind of talent just go. It would be remiss of me as captain not to convince you at every available opportunity to be a part of our team."

This time, Quinn looks at the watch on her wrist and she almost curses when she sees that she is officially ten minutes late to her photography class. She's never late to photography. The three times they meet are most definitely the highlight of her weekly academic existence.

"It wasn't _actually_ a solo. It was a duet with–" She shakes her head. No, most assuredly _not_ going there.

This time, she manages to walk past Rachel in a stride, not caring how the other girl would react. She's barely four huge steps in when a hand grabs her by the wrist and she's forced to turn back. What faces her is a set of narrowed brows and gritted teeth. She roughly pulls her arm back.

"You can't just walk away like that. We were having a conversation. It's rude and completely uncalled for."

"What's uncalled for is you not understanding that no means _no_ , Berry. I don't want to be part of your show choir. I don't want to be part of _any_ show choir. Period." She's irritated now and she doesn't care if she gets all up on Rachel Berry's face.

So she does just that.

"Get it into your thick skull, Ms. Broadway Royalty. I _refuse_ to be in glee," they are nose to nose now, and Quinn's somewhat aware that at one point in the near future, she may just actually regret what she's doing or saying, but at this point, she could not care any less. "For once, listen to what other people are saying, and just get off my radar."

This time, it's Rachel Berry who steps back, albeit slowly, as if not even acknowledging the fact that mere seconds ago, they were sharing the same air. She brushes her hands over her skirt, and raises an eyebrow.

"Everyone who's ever transferred from Carmel to McKinley has always done so because we have the nation's _best_ show choir. Hence, the _best_ chance to inevitably get the most prominent college education in the country. Ask Jesse St. James," Rachel licks her upper lip, hands on her hips now. "I thought all this time you were just playing hard to get, you know. And who else to appreciate the value of being a diva but myself? New Directions has had more diva's in its midst than one really cares to count, but that's acceptable given the amount of talent we also have. _You_ certainly have talent, and I recognize that so I let you indulge in this little cat and mouse game of sorts we've been playing for the past few months."

Quinn just stares, knowing that she's probably too late for class to even go there now, resigned to the reality of it. She's tired of this conversation and wants to get it over with, away from Rachel Berry and her high horse. More than anything, when she finally walks away from this conversation-turned-confrontation, what she wants is to sit under the old tree she saw near the benches behind the music department's building, and take pictures.

"So if that's not your angle, Quinn Fabray, what is?"

"None of your business."

And then Rachel smirks. Actually _smirks._

Quinn keeps herself from wiping that irritating smirk off her face.

"Fine. Be that way then. Just remember this day when you come crawling into our choir room asking for an audition."

"That's not going to happen."

A scoff. "We'll see."

"Are we done now?"

Another smirk is sent Quinn's way and just when she thinks Rachel's about to walk away, the other girl turns back around, flipping her hair a bit.

"Oh, and just for the record, Quinn. You are never going to get me off your radar. Not in this school, anyway. Like you said, I'm Broadway royalty. And I rule this school. So…"

Then, she walks away. Quinn is both irritated and relieved, but mostly, she's just drained. She walks the other way from the visual arts building and towards the area behind the music building. She knows that New Directions won't be holding practice for the day because Santana said they'll be 'scoping out the "enemy"' and probably psyching the opposing sectional's team out by challenging them to an impromptu "choir-off". At least, for that alone, she's grateful that she won't be seeing Rachel any more for the rest of the afternoon.  
________________________________________

She's looking through the viewfinder when she senses someone sit beside her, and once again, irritation creeps back up her spine. All she really wants at this moment is to be left alone, but apparently, the universe does not agree. She sighs, puts the camera down, strap securely placed on her neck, and faces whoever it is this time around.  
Immediately, the girl to her right looks down, biting her lip. Quinn relaxes from her instant defensive posture, but instead raises an eyebrow in question, waiting for the other girl to speak up first.

After a beat, "Um, I just…You–you weren't in class today," the girl looks up, tucks some of her hair (brown, Quinn sees, dark but not quite black) behind her ears.

"I got held up. And then I was too late to go to class, so…" Quinn smiles at the way the other girl tries not to look her in the eye, or can't, maybe.

"Right," bites her lip again, and then, "I was walking to the music building, but then I saw you, and…yeah. I don't know what I'm doing here, actually." She laughs this really soft laugh, and Quinn's smile grows wider. "You're probably thinking that I'm _such_ a dork."

"It's cute," and the other girl's head snaps up, a smile on her face. Quinn holds her hand out, "Quinn."

"I–I know. We're both in the photography class, and you're, like, Ms. Grant's favorite so…I mean, y–you're really good! So, I know. You," she stops to take a breath and Quinn can't help but bring up her camera to snap a picture. "Oh god. You took my picture! It's–"

"Cute," Quinn says, after looking at the lcd. She brings her hand up again, "I'm Quinn. Sorry I don't really recognize you from the class."

This time, the girl promptly takes the hand and shakes it. "Chelsea. And that's okay. I'm usually seated behind you…Not that I'm creeping on you or anything! Th–that's just usually where I am. Behind you. Oh god, I'm sorry, that sounded like…I am such a dork!"

Quinn is reminded of a similar conversation she had (two years ago now, but she wishes it could be longer so she could finally let it, _everything_ , go) when she was the Chelsea and the other person was –

"Do you want to go for a walk, Chelsea? And maybe later, I can show you some of the pictures I've taken in my laptop at the dorm?"

"Sure, that's…sure."  
________________________________________

Later, when Chelsea's left the room after she tells her she's not really looking for a relationship right now, Quinn just wraps herself in a blanket and opens the folder in her laptop she hasn't touched in maybe five months. She looks at the pictures of a girl (always the same girl) in various positions and facial expressions, and stops at the picture of her with eyes closed, half of her face pressed to the pillow and her dark hair fanned out.

Quinn deletes the folder.  
________________________________________

Chelsea is the first girl Quinn sleeps with in McKinley.

She won't be the last.

 

(End of prologue.)


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this part's a little bit of Quinn's backstory, as well as Quinntana friendship, which I have to tell you guys now will feature heavily in this fic. I don't plan on shifting pov's for the rest of the story so this is as much a character study on this verse's Quinn as it will be about Quinn and Rachel together (eventually). Santana is a huge part of Quinn's present life in McKinley as much as Holly was to her past, so they'll almost always be mentioned.
> 
> For everyone who's a little bit confused about how the curriculum in McKinley works, I don't like giving out too much detail in author's notes, as they'll eventually be mentioned at certain parts of the story. But just for a brief rundown, this AU!McKinley is an arts-oriented secondary school. It means that although the students will also have the usual high school subjects such as algebra or biology or history, a majority of each student's curriculum will focus heavily on the arts, particularly on their chosen field. Each student will be given a choice at the start of their junior year to declare their primary arts path (think of it as like a major in college) like how Rachel chose Voice or Santana chose Theater (as will be mentioned in this chapter), but they also have to choose a secondary arts path (like a minor) that will complement their primary choice. Their primary and secondary choices will definitely weigh heavily on their specific high school curriculums, and eventually, their pick of colleges or universities (or conservatories) for after their high school career. So there, hope that cleared it up for everyone.

_I measure to what degree_  
I can shape up what's been forged in me.  
( **Run** ; Indigo Girls)

**Chapter One**

The first time Quinn had ever heard of William McKinley High School for the Arts, she was in seventh grade and her aunt Holly had been sitting with them at the dinner table, laughing after she forgot that the Fabrays always said grace before meals, diving right into her meatloaf and leaving an irate Russell Fabray seated at the dinner table, and the rest of them in awkward silence. Quinn had known by then that her aunt wasn't really a fan of religion or praying or even _God_ – she'd overheard her parents having a little bit of a spat about aunt Holly one evening and her father mentioned the word "atheist", which left her mother speechless, and so Quinn asked Frannie about what that word meant the next day.

"Where did you hear about that?" Frannie had asked, her eyes narrowing, and Quinn knew that it was at least a good thing to ask her sister than her parents because if _this_ was the reaction she got from Fannie, then she could only imagine the kind of reaction she'd get from her parents.

"Just someone."

"Well, Quinnie, don't let anyone tell you that it's a good thing because it's not. An atheist means someone who doesn't believe in God and that means they're going to hell because they don't believe in following the teachings of the church. And you know what happens to someone who doesn't follow the church, right?"

"What?"

"They get punished by God, of course. Sheesh, Quinn, don't they teach you anything at Sunday school these days?"

Frannie was already a senior in high school by then and so she didn't go to Sunday school anymore, but Quinn knew that her sister never missed a class of it when she was younger and was also the current Celibacy Club's president in her actual school at the time, so no other teenager was probably as credible as Frannie when it came to the teachings of the church.

But Quinn, as young as she was, felt that little churning at the pit of her stomach when she heard this because she couldn't exactly imagine her fun-loving, always smiling aunt ending up in the fires of hell from being like that. She remembered how her aunt would also bow her head (but never did the sign of the cross, which was always confusing for Quinn since they all did it, but finally made more sense now when she thought of it) when they said their prayers before dinner (aunt Holly had almost always visited them every six months or so, and she always stayed for dinner). Quinn didn't want to think about her aunt being punished by God because she was an atheist, as per her father's statement. Only bad people should be punished and Quinn believed that her aunt Holly was definitely not a bad person. Every time her aunt would visit, she would always give Quinn something – a book, a set of coloring pens, an autographed High School Musical cd with both Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens's signatures that one time – and she would always send Quinn pictures of the many places she traveled to every month or so with a note at the back that always ended with "Be amazing, Quinn. Love always, Aunt Holly".

So no, ever since finding out that her aunt was an atheist and knowing what that word actually meant, Quinn hadn't really known how to reconcile the kind of person she believed her aunt was to the kind of person everyone else believed that label was.

It wasn't until that one dinner when Quinn had been in seventh grade that she began to learn the deeper implications of how labels shaped a person's life.

It was also on that same dinner that Quinn would remember William McKinley High School for the Arts as the one place her free-spirited aunt willfully chose to finally tie herself down to.  
________________________________________

"So, Holly, Judy says you actually got yourself a permanent job this time?" her father had said from his place at the head of the dinner table, and Quinn could still remember that night quite vividly because her head snapped up as she immediately looked at her aunt seated across from her. Holly had looked right back at her with a smile before turning to face her father.

"Yes, Russell, thanks. Are you congratulating me? Aw, I didn't know you cared," and then turned back to Quinn with a wink.

"I wasn't–"

"It was a really great offer, too! William McKinley High School for the Arts. You know that private school where all those really talented and _really wealthy_ little brats go to? Well, they're mostly teenagers 'cause it's a _high school_ , but I bet they're also mostly spoiled brats. Right, Frannie?"

"Aunt Holly…"

"Offered me a position at their dance department that I could not possibly pass up! So, I guess my traveling around will be put on hold for a little while," and to her, "Sorry, niblet."

Quinn had smiled at that just a little, "Maybe you can take pictures of the school, Aunt Holly. Or…or maybe the students. Like when they're dancing and stuff. You can send me that–"

"Isn't that the school where that actress was from? You know, with the divorce and the gay husband? Quinn, eat your peas." her mother had instantly chimed in, and Quinn could only bite her inner lip and look back at her plate. "Holly, who was that again?"

"Shelby Corcoran. And Elliot Berry was from the school too. In fact, they went together. It's an elite school, Judy. It has a lot of really known alumni in the arts field and in show business."

"But I can't believe the principal would show support like that. I mean, it's bad enough that they're getting divorced, but to admit that they'd always known about…about, you know…Elliot Berry's gayness…"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Judy, but I think what was said was not said as an official school statement but rather as a personal statement from a close friend. And besides, I think it's nice," a shrug, "to be part of a great school where the principal is someone who's liberated enough…and obviously well-connected."

"It's a pansy art school, Holly," her father had said, "I'm not going to be surprised if they actually encourage and teach the students how to be abominations."

Quinn could still remember how the silence that permeated the room had been palpable that no one dared to move a muscle. Not until her aunt put her utensils down and turned her body to face Russell Fabray.

"What exactly do you mean by that, Russell?"

It was an intense battle of wills, Quinn – young as she was – had known at the time. And she had been scared.

"Holly–"

"No, Judy. This I want to hear," at this time, her aunt had already been standing, her arms crossed.

"Fine," her father had also moved to stand up, "You want to know what I meant, Holly? What I _mean_ is that it's probably a school for freaks and homosexual adolescents who come from households without any kind of righteous and religious upbringing. And the _teachers_ ," a sneer, "are probably just as much of an abomination as these kids are going to eventually become. So you belong right there with them."

"Look, Russell, I've had it with your bullshit," and Quinn had heard Frannie's gasp to her right, "I come here and I tolerate your beliefs, okay? And I may not be gay, but I have a lot of friends who are, and they're probably a gazillion times better human beings than you could ever be, you fundamentalist hypocritical bastard."

"Get out of my house!"

"Fine, I will."

"Russell!"

"No, Judy! I don't want to see this woman set foot in my house ever again! I don't care if she's your sister or not; I don't want that kind of influence around me and my children."

"Judy, I love you, but I seriously will never understand why you choose to devote your entire life to this ass! I'm out of here," and then aunt Holly had turned around and before she knew it, Quinn had followed her aunt to the black sedan parked outside their house, crying the whole time, while her father shouted at her to come back.

It had been the first time she ever disobeyed her father's commands.

She could still remember how her aunt had embraced her and tried wiping the torrent of tears that would not stop from flowing out, "Honey, stop crying. It's okay."

"N-no! It's not. Daddy is…And you're…You're going! And you're not coming back! And I can't see you again!"

"Look, Quinn, your daddy doesn't want me to come back, and he's your daddy, so we have to respect that, okay?"

"But when will I see you again? I'm never gonna see you again, aunt Holly!"

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," and then her aunt handed her a small rectangular card with the name Holly Holiday in a big bold font printed at the top, as well as the words "Dance Consultant" in a smaller font written below it. At the bottom of the card were numbers and words that Quinn couldn't really focus on in the middle of her hysterical crying. "Those are my contact numbers and my email address. If you ever need someone to talk to, you can always call me or send me an email whenever, alright? But we have to keep this a secret from your parents, okay? Or I'll never really see you anymore."

"Okay, aunt Holly."

"Promise you'll call me?"

"Promise."

"I love you, niblet. Be amazing, Quinn."  
________________________________________

She just got done packing her camera in one bag and her laptop in another when the door to their dorm room opens and in barges her roommate lugging a huge black Dolce & Gabbana carry-on, with an added backpack attached to her torso, and Quinn can't help but laugh at how ridiculous Santana Lopez – resident McKinley bad-ass – looks. Santana looks at her with a scowl and stops to raise _the finger_ , before hauling her luggage back in.

"Need help with that, S?"

"I'm already here, bitch," Santana says as she drops her carry-on and the backpack at the foot of the bed on the left side of their room, and then unceremoniously dropping on top of it, taking in big gulps of air. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you visual arts kids never go back to school before the actual first week of class or something? It's why we talented theater stars hate you."

"Talented theater stars, huh?"

"Of course," and then Santana sits up and actually flips her hair to the side.

Instead of immediately going out as originally planned, Quinn decides to sit down on top of her own bed and chat for a while. It's been almost two months since she's had the chance to interact with her roommate and despite the constant text messages, having Santana Lopez's bitchdom up close will never get old in her book. If there's ever anyone Quinn could call her best friend in the year she's had as a McKinley student, Santana is definitely it.

Not that she'd admit anything that sappy to Santana Lopez's face though.

"Bet you there's someone we know who'll say she's the only talented theater star in this school."

Santana scoffs, "Rachel Barbra Berry can kiss my ass. Besides, that diva didn't even declare theater as her primary path. It's voice. So, she's a singer more than anything."

"As opposed to you who's a _real_ theater star, you mean?" Quinn raises an eyebrow.

"Damn right I am."

"Well, maybe you can go steal the lead from Berry one of these days, huh? Show the school who's actually boss and all that," and then she throws a pillow at the other girl, hitting Santana smack dab on her face.

"Fuck, Fabray, really? A pillow fight this early in the school year? Actually, the year hasn't even started yet." Then, Santana throws the pillow right back at Quinn, who catches it right before it hits her own face. "And it's because of those damn musicals all the fucking time. I mean, really? All the time? No wonder she gets the lead. She's a singer and Schuester's favorite."

It's true. Everyone in school knows that Rachel Berry is almost always the favorite of any faculty member from the music and drama department. That includes Will Schuester who is both the moderator for glee, and co-moderator for theater. As a result, she's bagged the female lead in every major school play in McKinley since freshman year.

"Then maybe you should audition against her this year, S. That'll ruffle her feathers a little bit."

"Doubt that," Santana says, and then she bites her bottom lip – a sure fire sign that there's something brewing in the wicked Lopez mind. If Quinn's known anything about Santana in a year, it's that when her roommate gets an idea, it's never any good news for the person who's going to be involved. Luckily, Quinn's also never been the subject of any of Santana Lopez's insane schemes. "You know what'll really ruffle Rachel Berry's feathers though? If someone messes with glee."

Santana looks at her pointedly, and Quinn's shoulders straighten in defense. "What are you saying, Santana?"

"Oh, don't get your fucking panties in a bunch, Fabray. I love glee. It's like the best part of my day. I ain't messing with it," and then a tiny smirk, "I'm just saying that maybe…it's time for a little bit of – hmmm, how should I call it? – _restructuring_."

"And how would you make that happen exactly?"

"Do you mean, how do _we_ make that happen?"

There's a pause in the conversation as Santana continues to look at her, that (now) annoying smirk being displayed, while she marinates on what has just been said.

Then, as if burned by her own mattress, Quinn immediately stands up, index finger pointed Santana.

"No! Whatever it is that you're cooking in that crazy head of yours, I don't want any part of it, Lopez."

She moves to grab her camera and laptop bags so that she can exit the room – as much as Quinn has missed Santana's presence for the summer, she has definitely not missed the mad scheming that comes with it – but before her fingers even touch the straps, Santana Lopez grabs her by the arm and whirls her around.

"No, Q, just listen, okay. Almost all of the senior glee kids have been there from the start, and no one's gonna dare stand up to her at this point because if anyone wanted to, they would have done so a long time ago. And also, there's like an unspoken rule in glee that everyone should adhere to a ridiculous sense of hierarchy, so I can't just rope some sophomore or junior into siding with me – _and against Berry_ – at any point in time. Rachel has veto powers, and the seniors will back her up to assert seniority."

"I don't –"

"But if _you_ ," again with the pointed look, "come to glee and started challenging Berry's iron fist, it has more credibility, and even the seniors will listen to what you have to say."

"How can I have credibility," she asks, narrowing her eyes in confusion, "when I chose not to be a part of glee in the first place? Or do you not remember the part where I _rejected_ Rachel's offer?"

Santana's smile just grows wider; she practically beams. "But that's just it, Q! You're a senior and you rejected her. It's not like you were booted off or you had a horrible audition or something. You actively rejected a spot in the team after Rachel Berry orchestrated three months of practically hounding you about it. And you did it. To. Her. Face. You could just imagine what that did to her enormous ego! Or do you not remember how I complained every night for the next two months about how she took that out on us in glee at every fucking opportunity?"

"I remember. You were insufferable."

" _She_ was insufferable. I'm just a bitch. But anyway, the point is…if Quinn Fabray finally joins New Directions and challenges the captain, it's definitely going to rock the boat. _But_ , if Quinn Fabray _and_ Santana Lopez teams up to challenge the captain," Quinn rolls her eyes as Santana licks her lips in anticipation, "we can even stage a coup d'etat. We won't just be ruffling the diva's feathers; we might just actually make her head explode."

"So you want me to join glee?"

"Duh. Weren't you listening?"

"Hmmm, let me think about it," Quinn places a finger on her jaw while pursing her lips, pretending to think for a second. "Nope. No, can do, Santana." She finally grabs the straps of her bags and places one on each shoulder, looks at her watch, and then moves towards the door and out of their shared room.

"Where are you going?"

"Aunt Holly asked me to take pictures of the dance rehearsals at the studio today. They've already started so it's time for me to go. It's," Quinn takes a breath, prove to Santana that her roommate is not the only one who knows how to make dramatic pauses in their conversations, "Brittany's troupe, actually."

Santana's audible sharp intake of breath makes Quinn feel a little guilty, but really, only a little. Her roommate is nothing short of a grade-A bitch, and Quinn remembers the tension that filled every interaction between Santana and Brittany at the end of the previous school year. That was all Santana's fault.

"Oh, so that's why you're here early, then? To do your aunt's bidding?"

"Among other things."

"Other things being…girls, you mean."

Quinn actually laughs at that, "Shut up, Lopez."

"No, seriously. Gotten any booty yet, hot stuff? The dance troupes have been here a week, more or less. And the theater kids are starting to get back to the dorms," Santana says, tilting her head as if saying _look at me_ , arms opened wide. "Pretty soon you'll have your pick of any questioning McKinley girl that you want."

"And I'm pretty sure you'll turn that into another competition all over again, S," because Quinn remembers the last year being full of times when they challenged each other on who could sleep with this or that girl first.

After Santana found out about Chelsea, her roommate proceeded to drag her to the quad to check out any girl passing by. That particular form of bonding activity turned out to be the first time they would challenge each other's capacity for seduction. They continued for the next few months – a girl or two a month – until Santana declared one evening that "Brittany Pierce is fucking with my mind, Fabray" and then the next couple of months after that was just Santana being all over the place and Quinn trying to keep her roommate from driving off to Mexico or failing their exams.

Or quitting glee club, which would be so much worse than hightailing it to another country because Rachel Berry would haunt Santana Lopez's life every minute of everyday, and Santana would then haunt _her_ life every minute of everyday, which would always include conversations about the glee captain this and the diva that…and if Quinn had to hear more about Rachel Berry than the average amount of times she would hear that name in common conversations in this school (which was _a lot_ ), she would shoot herself.

But that's a story for another time.

"How about let's make it a competition now," Santana says, now walking alongside her. "I know for a fact that there's more or less two other girls in Brittany's group who's either curious about doing the dirty with girls, or just curious enough to wanna do it with either of us. So what do you say, Q? First to get it on with any of the two?"

Quinn looks to her left, "Fine, you're on."

But then Santana skips in front of her and they stop walking. "There's a catch though."

"Oh, is there?"

"We're not just playing for bragging rights this time. We're going to bet on it."

"What, with money?" she asks, leaning her head back, eyes wide and incredulous.

"Of course not. You know that's not how I roll. I meant…with a dare."

"And what's your dare?"

That ever-annoying smirk on Santana's face is back. "I win, you join glee."

 _Quinn knew it_. It's not like Santana to ever pass up an opening that good. But she also knows how to throw it just as hard, if not more.

"Fine. And if I win, you tell Brittany that you're in love with her once and for all."

The smirk on her roommate's face vanishes instantly, but after a moment of silence, Santana only blinks and says, "Deal."

"Let's shake on it, Lopez," as she holds her hand out.

Santana takes it. "You're going down, Fabray."

It's not like Quinn doesn't know that the odds are _for_ her this time. She's pretty sure that when they arrive at the studio, Santana will most likely be too awkward and uncomfortable around Brittany's presence to even think about talking to any of the other girls there, let alone flirting with them.

Quinn's got it in the bag.

(End of Chapter.)


	3. Two

_But oh, now, my world is at your feet._  
I was lost and I was found.  
But I was alive and now I've drowned.  
( **They Weren't There** ; Missy Higgins)

**Chapter Two**

So…she loses the bet.

To say Quinn is pissed off is quite the understatement, considering her (bitch of a) roommate won't stop rubbing that fact in her face. And being constantly reminded of the terms of their bet serves not just to aggravate her, but also invoke a sense of panic-ridden anxiety in her system. For the past several days, she's only had the capacity to sleep way past midnight, with thoughts running through her head keeping her awake even when she tries valiantly to ignore them. Memories she's been struggling to suppress for almost a year – and has somehow, thankfully, been successful in doing so – now threatens to be a constant reminder of the things she chose to leave behind.

Or those that chose to leave _her_ behind.

She makes attempts to distract herself. Some nights, she reads a book. Others, she tries thematically organizing the photos in her laptop into distinct portfolios. (There's even that one night she tried goading Santana into a game of online poker at two in the morning; her offer returned with a volley of extremely detailed death threats that she'd rather pretend didn't come from someone who sleeps mere feet away from her on another bed in the same room every night. Suffice it to say, she never repeats the offer.)

Mostly though, she can't help but think about the things she _really_ does not want to think about, admitting to herself that it may have already been a year – a long time by some standards, though definitely not _hers_ – but that does not mean she's any more capable of managing her emotions now than she did back then. She's adjusted well to life in McKinley, considering the circumstances that brought her here, but she's still unable to talk about any of the things that happened that got her there to begin with. Not to Santana. Not to Brittany. Not to the school's guidance counselor Ms. Pillsbury, who Quinn personally thinks needs her own counseling/therapy sessions for a variety of reasons.

She can't even make herself really confide in her aunt, albeit Holly actually knowing some things, at least. But mostly just the highlights, the parts that don't even begin to skim the surface of the thoughts that really keep Quinn up at night. Those thoughts she keeps to herself; tries to throw away, but sadly, the brain just does not work that way, so she hides them instead  
It's why Santana will never truly understand why Quinn is as hesitant as she is about joining glee, and just as hesitant (if not more) about explaining why. But since Quinn can't give any reasonable justification as to why she wants to back out of their bet, her roommate would never allow her to do so.

So, that's that.

"S, you awake?"

Silence.

"S?"

"No."

"Come on, Santana. It's not even that late yet," Quinn turns to face Santana's bed.

"The fuck are you talking about not late? It's fucking," Santana shifts, looks at the phone placed beside her, "one am! Leave me alone and fucking go back to sleep. Ugh."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was just thinking about auditions. You know, for glee."

"Go to sleep, Fabray."

"What if…what if I botch the audition?"

Santana, whose back has been turned to her the whole time, suddenly turns around in haste.

"What do you mean _botch the audition_? We had a deal, Q, and that's not it."

Quinn sighs, "It's been over a year, Santana. You know that I don't sing anymore."

"Well, singing is just like sex, you know? It's not like one year without it and you'll suddenly forget how to hit the right notes…or in the case of sex, forget how to make a girl come by going down on them. The only difference for me is that I probably could survive a year without singing more than I could survive a year without sex."

She ends up half-laughing, half-snorting. "Right, of course."

In the almost darkness of their room, Quinn can't really see clearly what the expressions on her roommate's face are, but she's guessing there's a little bit of lip pursing happening there.

"So unless you actually have something substantial to say about not following through on our deal, maybe you should let me go back to getting my beauty rest. They scheduled an assembly for theater primaries early in the morning and we're required to be there, so."

"Well…S, do you know when you'll be holding the glee auditions then?"

"The diva won't be back 'til Wednesday next week, so no glee meetings 'til the day after. So, we can't actually finalize stuff yet, but I'm guessing, maybe the week after that. First week of class."

"And I can sing any song? No requirements?"

"You can go Bone Thugs on their asses, I don't care. Just make sure it's good enough to get you in."

Quinn laughs softly, "I doubt Rachel Berry would appreciate the value of a good Crossroads rendition."

"Coming from _your_ white ass? I doubt anybody would."  
________________________________________

_Fly Me To The Moon_ had been her chosen song for the Vocal Adrenaline audition.

It definitely was not her initial choice really, and it wasn't like she spent her days listening to Frank Sinatra when she was barely fourteen years old. Back then, her playlist had been filled mostly with pop songs often heard from the radio, and she figured there was nothing wrong with singing something current and relatable to showcase whatever existed of her vocal talent that someone as popular as VA's main female lead Giselle Clark surprisingly found interest in. Enough to get an invite to their auditions, at least.

It wasn't until she heard her mother singing the song that she found herself fascinated by it.

"It's our wedding song, your father and I," her mother had answered after she asked what the song was. And then she couldn't help but ask her mother if she could teach her how to sing it – the words, the melodies, getting a feel for the song that she only found out meant something special to her parents.

Then she told her mother that she was considering joining Carmel's show choir, that someone from the team suggested it, and that maybe it would be a good start to her high school life.

"They're really very good," she could remember gushing to her mother, "They sang at the school opening assembly and everyone gave them a standing ovation."

"You have to ask your daddy about it," was her mother's only answer. But then her mother sang the song again, raised an eyebrow with a smile, and soon enough they were singing together.

A day before she had to audition, she asked her father for permission.

"Why do you have to join a singing club, Quinn? You have more important things to be doing with your time than singing. You can take over the Christ Crusaders like your sister did."

She'd looked down at her feet closed together.

"I just think that…maybe, I can, daddy. It's a big club and they're really picky about newcomers because they're good…But I just want to try," she bit her lip before ending with, "I just want to see if I can get in."

There was silence as she waited – for permission, for rejection, for a dismissal, maybe – but then looked up and saw her mother touching her father's arm, "Russell, just listen to your daughter sing."

And with her mother's encouraging smile, she began singing the first few lines to a Frank Sinatra classic.

She'd had her eyes closed the whole time, her heart beating faster than she could ever remember it beating before. When she opened them finally, she saw a little corner of her father's lips curled up. And she released a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

When it was obvious neither of her parents would say anything first, she tentatively stuttered with a, "I–I was thinking maybe I c–could do that for the tryout, daddy…"

A beat. And then, "Keep your eyes open, then. Fabrays _always_ look other people in the eye," before walking away from them to the master's bedroom.

Her mother had immediately turned to her then with a tight embrace after her father's hasty exit. "Oh, Quinnie, you were wonderful. You know your father. He's not the emotional type."

"So that means…it's okay?"

"Of course, honey," and only then did she allow herself to hug her mother just as tightly. "You'll blow them away."  
It was all she could do not to throw up all over their pristine white carpet.  
________________________________________

Immediately after the Vocal Adrenaline audition, when she'd been walking towards the nearest girl's CR from the auditorium with the intention of splashing water on her face after that intensely nerve-wracking experience, Giselle Clark caught up to her in a sprint. And the only thing Quinn could do was stop because, well, _what else could you do when one of the school's most popular girls wants to hold a conversation with you in the hallway, really_?

"That was great, you know."

"Um, thanks."

"I'm not supposed to say this 'til they post the official list tomorrow, but," and then Giselle had touched her arm, briefly, "welcome to the team, Quinn."

As she watched VA's soloist walk away, Quinn's only instinct had been to swallow down on something dislodged in her throat.

It didn't taste like bile though.  
________________________________________

McKinley's auditorium is much bigger than Carmel's and it has more of a theater feel than Carmel's ever really did, but considering the fact that a huge portion of the school's budget is given to the Drama department each year, it's really no surprise. With a seating capacity of close to 1000 people – a building unto itself – it remains to certainly be the school's "center stage". It is also New Direction's second home, with the choir room being the first.

There's a line of people waiting to audition, almost all of whom Quinn recognizes as music, dance, and theater primaries. It's no secret that while New Directions is the most coveted club in McKinley – that it is nothing less than an honor for any student in their school to be a part of it; and the current members definitely make sure their fellow students are aware of that too – it's also monopolized by members coming from the Music, Dance, and Drama departments. Santana has confirmed that as of the moment, there is essentially no member in the club who comes from any other department but the three, except for wheelchair-bound senior Artie Abrams, and only because of his chosen secondary, which is film (under the Visual and Media Arts department). As it is, he's actually a theater primary himself, so it's not too far off.

If Santana's plan pushes through – meaning she gets in – Quinn might just be the only member of the club hailing from the "outside" departments, considering she's chosen photography (under the Visual and Media Arts department) as her primary, with creative writing and comparative literature (under the English department) as a secondary path. It's what she has always wanted, ever since her aunt would regale her with stories about the school, and especially when the time came that she realized the option of transferring to McKinley had become very real indeed.

She's one of the very last ones to audition for the day – part of Santana's plans actually, including not writing her name on the sign-up sheet. If anything, her roommate wants the maximum satisfaction of pulling the rug out from under Rachel Berry's feet. At this point, Quinn's just in for the ride.

And then some. Because while Quinn surely plans on following through on her deal with her roommate, if she is to go through with this – and not quit when the first opportunity arises – she knows she has to find herself a reason that goes deeper than just backing up Santana's troublemaking ways.

She's found that reason too, she knows. The night before, listening to Santana's light snoring a few feet away, Quinn knows that maybe if she really has to join glee, she's going to do it for her closest friend, in more ways than Santana will ever realize.

Consequentially, she's going to do it for someone else too. Someone like Brittany, maybe.

When she walks to the center of the stage, her head is filled with comparison to that one time she also auditioned for a position in another show choir. Back then, her panel had been composed of only three people – the coach, along with Vocal Adrenaline's male and female leads. This time, her panel is a lot bigger too, with five of the New Direction's seniors plus their moderator, Mr. Schuester. Quinn recognizes all of their faces, as would anyone in their school, really. All of them look at her with mostly blank faces, except for Rachel whose head is bent down, scribbling something on her notepad, but it is Santana's ever-present smirk that Quinn focuses on, and she smiles.

"Hi. My name is Quinn Fabray, and I'm here to audition for a spot in the club."

In the middle of that statement, she sees Rachel's head snap up immediately, eyes narrowing.

Mr. Schuester smiles at her. "That's great, Quinn! I'm sure Holly will be happy about this." Of course Will Schuester would find a way to bring her aunt into the conversation. Quinn isn't really surprised since she found her aunt and the glee coach 'hanging out' sometime in the middle of the summer break.

"I'm sure –"

"Maybe," Rachel interrupts loudly, "if – and that's an enormous _if_ – she is good enough to make it to the team."

"Oh shut up, Berry," Santana scowls, and Rachel looks two seats to her right, affronted. "Let's hear the girl sing."

It looks like Rachel is about to say something else, when Finn Hudson – McKinley's golden boy and Schuester's sometime pet project – says instead, "That's right, Rach," and to her with a dopey grin, "What are you gonna sing, Quinn?"

Santana's smug look is a direct contrast to the ridiculously (funny) shocked expression on Rachel's face. Schuester looks like he wants to either appease his glee captain or bolt from the room. Kurt Hummel has raised an eyebrow while sharing a glance with Mercedes Jones, who's now biting her lip to keep from smiling.

This time, Quinn chooses to sing James Brown's _It's a Man's Man's Man's World_ acapella, and leaves all of her wayward thoughts out the door.  
________________________________________

It's like déjà vu when she finds Rachel Berry catching up to her in a sprint as she's walking away from McKinley's auditorium. The only thing different is that Quinn decides not to stop immediately, even when, once again it seems, one of the school's most popular girls wants to hold a conversation with her.

"What are you doing?" Rachel hisses, now beside her, matching her pace.

"Uh, walking back to the dorm?" She spares an incredulous glance to the girl beside her, and just hastens her walk.

"Wait," and then a hand on her arm, only this time, the touch isn't brief. The grip stays, hard, effectively stopping her. "What are you playing at?"

Quinn snatches her arm back, then crosses both of them in front of her. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel."

"Oh, really, you don't?" Rachel says, hands on her hips now. "Correct me if I'm wrong – which I most certainly _am not_ – but wasn't it you who _asserted_ last year that you refuse to join New Directions? Or any show choir, for that matter?"

Quinn doesn't respond; only looks back at Rachel with a well-kept neutral expression. She sees the way the other girl expects a reply, an outburst, any form of acknowledgment maybe that she's being accused of something grave. The most Quinn gives Rachel is the courtesy of not walking away.

When Rachel most likely realizes that Quinn won't say anything, she goes with, "I don't know why suddenly, after a year, you decide you want to sing again," and then steps closer, reminiscent of an encounter they had less than a year ago, "but don't come in my way."

This time, Quinn smirks down, their height difference more obvious in the lack of distance.

"Why would I ever do that, Rachel?"

It's Rachel who just looks at her, and it makes Quinn uncomfortable, makes her want to fidget her foot, makes her want to turn around and walk away. She doesn't get the chance to do any of that before Rachel suddenly turns around, strands of brown hair hitting Quinn in the face.

When Rachel is meters away, Quinn finds herself calling out, "Does this mean I'm in?"

Rachel stops, but doesn't turn around.

"Practice starts tomorrow. Four pm. Be on time."

And _then_ , Rachel looks back at her, only tilting her head, before she's off again with larger steps this time, back to the auditorium.

Quinn is biting her lip when she turns the other way, shoulders hunched, exhausted all of a sudden.

It's going to be a long year.

(End of Chapter.)


	4. Three

_Sometimes tears say all there is to say_  
 _Sometimes your first scars won't ever fade away_  
( **The End Where I Begin** ; The Script)

**Chapter Three**

To her surprise, it had actually been Frannie who first came to her rescue the night her parents kicked her out.

Her father didn't even give her time to pack. He just shoved her out the door and slammed it closed, her mother's cries audible behind it. Quinn had been crying too without her realizing it as she got up, pounded her fists on the door, and begged, "Daddy, please. Daddy, I'm sorry. Daddy. Daddy."

Moments later the door opened to reveal the face of her tear-streaked mother, shoving an armful of clothes to her, and ushering her away from the door.

"Quinnie," her mother had cried, "you have to go. Take your car with you or he's going to take that away from you too. Please, baby." And then Judy had closed the door behind her, leaving Quinn with the few clothes she could carry in her arms, and no family.

A couple of hours later, when Quinn had parked her car near a cheap motel and she had been crying all alone with no idea where to go and what else to do, her phone rang, a snobby picture of her older sister looking back at her.

"Mom called," came her sister's subdued voice on the other line. "Oh, Quinn, what have you done?"

"I don't–" and then a choked sob.

"Quinn," this time, her sister's voice sounded strangled, barely in control, which before that day, Quinn thought, had been an almost impossibility. "Quinn, listen to me."

"Frannie…Frannie, I don't know what to do. H–he kicked me out. I don't know what to do."

"Did you…did you try calling anyone? Anyone who can help?"

At that instant, Quinn realized that her sister had known about their aunt all along. That Quinn had kept in touch, had kept it a secret from her family, had thought it best to keep it that way for years. But Frannie had known all along, it seemed, and had also kept it a secret.

She felt her chest constrict, but she forced herself to release a breath.

"I–I tried calling aunt Holly, b–but no one's picking up."

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

Another choked sob, "N–no."

There was brief silence on the other line as Quinn tried in vain to quell the tears from falling. But the more she tried, the more they kept on coming.

"You've really messed up, Quinn."

"I know, Frannie. I know," she released a shuddered breath, and then, "Frannie, please, I don't know what to do… I don't have anything. He just kicked me out, Fran."

" _Oh God_." It had been the first time Quinn had heard her sister use the Lord's name in any statement outside of a prayer or a doctrinal declamation. Apparently, it was as much a night of firsts for Frannie as it was for Quinn.

"Are you walking around the streets alone, Quinn? God, that's– Where are you?"

"I–I have the car. I'm parked outside a motel. Fran, I don't have anything else. He didn't even let me pack."

"Okay, at least I know you're safe," Quinn heard a faint rustling on the other line, like her sister was moving around. "Do you even have any money? Can you afford a room for the night?"

Quinn placed the phone down and she rummaged through her bag, looking for her wallet. When she saw what was left inside, she released a labored breath. "I'm not sure," she said back to her sister as she picked up the phone. "I think I can afford a night, but barely. If I want to eat anything at all tomorrow, I'll have to sleep in the car."

"No, get a room for tonight, okay?"

"D–do you think I can still use the credit card, maybe?"

"No, Quinn. I'm pretty sure he's already cut you off by now."

She sniffed, trying to keep the next batch of tears at bay. "Okay."

Her sister was still on the line, and Quinn could hear her moving around, but Frannie didn't say anything. Quinn closed her eyes as she roughly placed her fingers on top of her closed lids.

"Quinn, listen to me," Frannie said when she spoke again. "I want you to take a deep breath, compose yourself, and check in for the night, okay? There's no point in crying yourself to death over this. When you're settled in, call Holly again and tell her what's happened. Do you understand me, Quinn?"

"Yes," was all she could manage to reply.

"After we hang up, send me the exact address where you're at, including the room number. I'm driving down there tonight and we'll figure something out."

Hearing that felt like a boulder falling off of Quinn's shoulders, and for the first time since her father forcibly pushed her out the door – she scraped her knee and she realized that the bleeding had stopped but it still hurt badly – she felt like she could breathe with a little more ease.

"You've really screwed up, Quinn," were Frannie's next words, "But you're my sister. And I'm not Dad."

"T-thanks, Fran."

"I don't understand any of this. And don't get me wrong, Quinn, I don't accept it." Then, there was a pause, and Quinn was just about to release a string of wet apologies, but her sister chose that moment to speak again, voice a little bit softer this time. "But you're my sister, okay? I'm not going to let you starve or live in your car. We'll figure something out."

________________________________________

"I don't understand why you're doing this again, Quinn," says Frannie, on the other line, as Quinn walks to the school cafeteria, her phone to her ear. "But that's nothing new, is it? I never understand why you do the things you do anymore."

"It's for a friend," she replies, as she nears the wide glass doors of the cafeteria. "I'm doing this as a favor, Frannie. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? Just last month you told me you're not interested in singing anymore. And now you're joining a show choir again? Do you even remember the last time you–" Quinn could hear her sister's quite audible sigh. "Fine! You know what? Do whatever you want. For your _friend_."

The clear insinuation behind her sister's statement carries through perfectly well that Quinn instantly feels the need to explain herself.

"It's nothing like that, Frannie…"

"Nothing like what?"

"Nothing like whatever it is you're thinking about, okay?"

She's inside the cafeteria by now and she stops to look around for an empty spot. For the past year, she's been keeping mostly to herself, especially during lunch time. Sometimes, she would join a group of people from some of her classes, but there was never any regular clique she would hang out with. A majority of the time though, she would either be sitting alone, reading while taking the occasional bites off her meal, or be at her aunt's office, eating lunch together.

There's an area in the cafeteria that's reserved (in an unspoken but quite known agreement among the student body) for members of New Directions, and while Quinn has steered clear of that space for the better part of her junior year, she's never quite gotten the habit of looking over there out of her system.

The first time she did it, Santana's boisterous laughter had snatched her attention away from the latest Murakami novel on her list, but as Quinn continued to look over, she noticed how even within the club, there was an observable division, a hierarchy that was obviously not just based on age or year level. Because while, yes, the youngest (freshmen) members of the club at the time cowered at the sidelines, it didn't really explain why Rachel and Finn, who were both also juniors then, were the apparent centers of attention when there were about five other senior members. If it were merely a matter of seniority, Rachel Berry wouldn't even be the captain of the club, let alone be able to commandeer the rest of the members' attention to whatever story she had spewing out of her mouth. And it happened. _Every single time_. Regardless of the individual reactions – Santana's annoyed scowl, Finn's lovestruck grin, Puckerman's leer, Brittany's guileless smile, the freshmen's openly adoring stares – Quinn would watch as Rachel Berry had each member eating at the palm of her admittedly small hand. It happened that first time, and it happened every time Quinn would find herself just observing from her small spot somewhere in the cafeteria.

This time, Rachel is in another one of her diatribes, hands flailing and index finger randomly pointing at various members of the club. Finn is seated beside her, a sullen expression on his face, before he looks away, gaze directly towards Quinn. She sees his demeanor lighten immediately and a wide boyish smile appears as he waves her over.

"I'm sure it's that girl, your roommate. Santana, isn't it?" she hears from her sister, and Quinn has actually forgotten that they're still currently having a conversation over the phone.

"What?"

"The favor? For your _friend_? Look, I'm trying to be a little more open here, Quinn. But honestly, if you have to continue your… _lifestyle_ , you should at least choose someone who's a little less, well, sinful." Quinn laughs at that because it's just _so Frannie_ , and the things she found intimidating about her sister before are now the same things that make her feel lighter, make her feel not quite so alone these days. "I've met her exactly once, and I assure you, Quinnie, that girl is the devil's spawn. It would do you well not to try to get into her…good graces." A brief pause. "Or anything else, really."

" _Oh my god_ , Frannie," she says in response, fully aware that she's blushing now.

It's that same moment that Quinn sees Finn stand up from his spot, still waving her over, smile even wider. The girl beside him, however, has stopped whatever speech she's handing out to her colleagues, and now looks at Quinn unblinkingly, with her lips mashed in a thin, straight line. As expected, the rest of the club is now aware of what caught Finn's – and then Rachel's – attention, and they all look back at her with obvious interest.

"Quinn!" Finn calls out to her. "Quinn, over here!"

"I gotta go, Fran," Quinn says to her sister. "I'll call you later after glee practice, okay?"

"Okay. Just make sure you know what you're doing this time. Alright, Quinn?" and then her sister hangs up.

She places the phone inside her shoulder bag before discreetly taking a deep breath and walking her way towards the glee table. When she gets closer, she immediately heads for Santana's side until Finn says, "You can sit here," gesturing to the seat beside him – the other side, the one currently unoccupied by an almost pissed off diva – and all Quinn could do is catch her roommate's amused eyes as she sits beside him.

"Hey, Q!" Brittany says, that patented easy smile on her face, as Quinn places her bag on top of the table and sits down.

"Hey, Brit," she says back, fully aware that the rest of the club has their eyes on her, wondering, judging maybe. It's not the first time she's been acquainted with all of New Directions, but it's the first time she sits at _the table_. It's a lunchtime ritual every student, especially the actual members of the club, are aware of.

It's a ritual she's been trying to put off for the better part of a week since she officially became a member.

"Glad you could join us, finally," are Santana's words, as they smile at each other. "We were all wondering when you'd show up and grace us with the Fabray presence."

"I've been busy; you know that, S."

"Yeah, San," joins Brittany, "That project you're doing with Ms. Holiday is very pretty, Q. She showed me some of the pictures yesterday and there's that one where we look like birds flying. You know, when they're all arranged in the sky and flying to somewhere not so cold? Only, we're not really flying, 'cause we're dancing. It's my favorite."

"That's one of my favorites too, Brittany."

"Can I have a copy of that?" Brittany squeals, and Quinn can't help but smile even wider, even when she sees, at the corner of her eye, her roommate's attention unnaturally taken by the piece of lasagna on her plate. "I want it to put it on my wall! It's so pretty. I want to wake up and see it every morning."

"Of course, B. I'm sure I can have a copy printed for you early tomorrow."

"Can I see some of your work too?" Finn asks from her left, and she sees him straighten up, moves his body so he's leaning more towards her. "Oh! Maybe you can take pictures of the club when we're rehearsing and stuff. That'll be really cool."

Before Quinn has even formulated a response, Rachel pipes up with a, "Finn, I think you're missing the point of rehearsals. It's so that we can actually _rehearse_. For glee? Not spend our time pretending to casually pose for candid shots when we could be working on perfecting our performances." Quinn catches Rachel's eyes this time, irritation written clearly all over the girl's face; although she thinks maybe it's not something directed at her this once. "Besides, Quinn isn't with us as a photographer. If we wanted one, we could just as easily hire someone else. She's a part of this club now. That means being in glee a hundred percent."

"Oh, and by that you mean swaying in the background and singing occasionally?" Quinn asks with an eyebrow raised. She has a smile on her face though – a full smile, not one of those half-smiles her roommate has been known to perfect – that's supposed to take the intended sting out of her words. Statements like these are exactly what she and Santana have decided would work best. Intermittently passive-aggressive. Never confrontational. Always with a smile.

"Burn!" Noah Puckerman harps, raising his palm up for a high five that Santana meets halfway with a laugh. The rest of the club are already either grinning openly, or trying (mostly in vain) to hide their own amusement.

Except for the glee captain herself, of course.

"Not quite, Quinn," Rachel says, indignation seeping out of her every word. "By that, I _mean_ being the team player that this show choir needs at every opportunity possible."

"And you would be the expert at that, of course," it's Santana this time, "Being a team player."

"Most certainly. I've only been the captain for a majority of our high school career, Santana. Even you have to admit I've always advocated for the welfare of glee. Three of the four consecutive national championships New Directions has won can attest to that."

"A-a-and," Santana drawls, "you've only also had the most amount of solos ever performed in and out of competition. Perfect example for a team player right there."

"Wait a minute, Santana," Kurt interrupts, sweeping his perfectly coiffed hair to the side. Quinn sits back, watching their interactions from the closest angle she's ever had the opportunity to have since realizing that she finds people-watching – particularly this group of people – a most intriguing hobby indeed. "We _always_ hold auditions for solos in this club. On behalf of Rachel, I resent whatever you're surely intending to imply."

"Thank you, Kurt," Rachel says, smiling back at him. "And Santana, I never knew you wanted a solo so badly. Maybe the next time you audition for one, you should choose a song that's along your vocal range. Just a piece of advice."

Quinn sees Santana's nostrils flare, eyes blazing with anger, ready to pounce. She contemplates keeping her silence for a second, just letting Rachel's ego take the physical smackdown her roommate's willing to hand out; that is until she looks a few seats over to where Brittany is, hands gripping the edge of the table, clearly torn between wanting to calm Santana down and knowing that she has no right to anymore.

"And if I want a solo?" Quinn asks instead, looking to her roommate first, hoping to convey a very clear _calm the fuck down_ , before letting her eyes roam the rest of the glee club's faces. Her gaze settles on Rachel though, and Quinn makes sure to keep her face devoid of any kind of emotion.

"You'll have to audition like the rest of us, Quinn," Finn answers, and she shifts her gaze to the boy beside him, knowing full well she still has Rachel's eyes on her. "Sometimes, multiple times. It's worth it though. We give the best performances. Right, Rach?"

"Always," but Rachel continues to look at her, brown eyes boring into her, not even sparing a glace to the boy seated between them. There's that discomfort that settles once again in Quinn's gut, the same feeling that makes her feet itch to stand up and take a long walk.

Ironically, Quinn knows it is also the same kind of itch she feels when she wants to grab her camera, hide her face behind its lens, and capture random moments other people would not even take a second glance at.

It is an admittedly disconcerting feeling.

Rachel is an admittedly disconcerting force of nature.

"I also suggest you choose a song along your vocal range, Quinn," Rachel says. "Not everyone has the kind of range that Kurt or Mercedes has." _Or me_ , is left unspoken, but Quinn (as well as the rest of the club) gets the message loud and clear.

"I'm sure I can figure something out," Quinn forces out a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "And if I don't, swaying in the background is still all kinds of fun, right?"

"All different kinds of fun to be had at this club, Fabray," Puck says loudly and follows it with a lascivious wink directed at her. "It's all about the behind-the-scenes action though, if you ask me."

"No one's asking you, Puck," Mercedes calls out, hitting the back of the mohawked boy's head, which results in his even louder "OW! That fuckin' hurts, you know."

"Unnecessary display of violence aside, Mercedes," And then Rachel finally, _finally_ faces the other way, "Thank you for pointing out the unfortunate reality of Noah being his usual disgusting self."

"Only for you, babe," he says, still rubbing the back of his head. "And maybe for Quinn, if she wants in on this."

Santana guffaws at that, apparently cooled down substantially from her earlier almost outburst.

"Not a chance in hell, Puckerman. So you can keep Lil' Puckerone tucked away."

"What? There's nothing little about my Puckerone! And how can anyone resist these guns?" He says, flexing his biceps.

"How can anyone not?" Kurt remarks.

Quinn nods in agreement, grinning a little more naturally this time, fully aware of Puck's player status in the school. She's aware that not a lot of girls (and some boys really) has the ability to actually put up a resistance to his moves. She's also aware that Noah Puckerman has in the past and probably will always use this to his advantage. Even Rachel Berry herself had fallen for his charms once during that brief but still talked about three-month interlude sophomore year, before Quinn has ever stepped foot in the halls of McKinley.

Quinn nods because while all this is true, it's also just as true that she now has an awareness – the three-year kind to date – of why she would never find herself falling for his bad boy image, or the supposed rugged appeal she hears some of the girls giggle about in between bathroom breaks. In another time before, or in another world, maybe she would have considered it.

Now she just laughs alongside Santana.

It's a hilarious thought, if anything.

(End of Chapter.)


	5. Four

_It’s a shame you don’t know_  
 _What you’re running from_  
 _Would your bones have to break_  
 _And your lights turn off?_  
( **Your Biggest Mistake** ; Ellie Goulding)

**Chapter Four**

There are rumors flying around the halls of William McKinley about every single member of New Directions. The first day Quinn attended class as a junior a year ago, she’s already heard practically four different versions of stories about Rachel Berry’s beauty regimen. Or Kurt Hummel’s uniquely hand tailored pairs of pants. Or even the razors that her roommate supposedly hides under her hundred-thousand-dollar-maintained hair.

Of course the most popular rumors are the easiest to go about. Those that are not quite as easily denied because the people being talked about don’t deem them important enough to be given any kind of attention to. These rumors mostly talk about how wealthy each member is, their fashion sense, the places they’ve traveled to, the supposed universities or colleges or conservatories they’d be attending after high school.

Then there are the more scandalous stories. The ones about their sordid love affairs within the choir, and their affairs with so-called “outsiders” from the somewhat incestuous circle. There are varying stories describing the club’s on-and-off relationships (Rachel and Finn, Mercedes and Sam), the friends with benefits agreements (Puck with any girl willing to open her legs, really), the love triangles (Artie and Tina and Mike until Artie moved on to Brittany, pretty much encroaching upon Santana’s ‘territory’), or even the more stable and boring couples (Tina and Mike, when Artie finally left them alone). There’s the story about how Kurt used to have the hugest crush on Finn when they were both freshmen until a year later, a boy by the name of Blaine Anderson enrolled and practically stole his heart, along with the respect of the other members of New Directions as its newest tenor. And how about those stories going around about Rachel’s love affair with the recently graduated Jesse St. James, and Finn’s chair-kicking fits of jealousy? Quinn has heard at least a dozen versions of those the first three months of being in William McKinley alone.

She’s pretty much aware of the rumors that have spread about how she rejected the special invitation Rachel handed out to her at the start of junior year. A high school for the arts that regales its award-winning show choir with accolades every moment it possibly can also takes enough precaution with regards to its enemies to make sure they _know them_ , and halfway through her first year as a transferee, just about every student in the school knew she wasn’t just a previous member of Vocal Adrenaline, but was a good contender to being its next female lead. And with that information came the questions – _why did she stop singing? Why did she refuse to join New Directions? Why did she transfer?_

She’s never been one for entertaining rumors, and she’s never particularly found herself to be the subject of persisting ones. Just as well as she expected, people eventually found more interesting things to talk about when Quinn stayed on the background, a lowly boring photography student who just happens to have the scariest member of New Directions as a roommate.

It’s with this same attitude that she walks the halls of McKinley as the newest addition to its revered show choir. She’s hot topic because she happens to be the newest source of gossip, but she expects that the rumor-mongering will eventually dwindle down once people realize she isn’t really _that_ interesting.

That is _if_ people don’t become privy to the things she’s been determined to hide for a year now.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

It’s fifteen minutes before the start of the first class for the day, and already there’s a smirking mohawked boy lounging in front of her locker. What could the day possibly have in store for her?

Quinn schools her features into a passive blank face. Puck can be amusing, sure, but she’s never quite taken a liking to his cocky girls-fall-all-over-me attitude.

“You’re blocking my locker, Puck.”

“Hey, hey, woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning?”

“I woke up just fine, thanks. Now would you please let me get my things from my locker so we can both go to class?” she says, raising a lone eyebrow.

Puck’s smirk turns into a shit-eating grin as he steps to the side and she proceeds to turn the combination to her locker. “Or maybe, you woke up _on the wrong bed_ this morning, huh?”

Her hand stops for a fraction of a second and upon realizing that she turned the lock a number more than needed, she starts over. She looks sideways before focusing on the lock, hoping the boy didn’t notice.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, really. Just been hearing some juicy stuff about you lately, that’s all.”

She finally opens the lock and yanks the locker door open. She starts grabbing notebooks and her portfolio when Puck leans a little closer, with a conspiratorial whisper, “Heard you could give me a run for my money with the ladies, Fabgay.”

Her head snaps to the side, eyes narrowed and a serious glare directed straight at the boy, “What did you just call me, Puckerman?”

The boy steps back, both hands up, “Whoa! No need to go all death ray eyes at me! I’m just saying…the things I’ve been hearing about you lately? I approve.”

Quinn has never been one for rumors, and she wholeheartedly believes she’s really not that interesting enough to be the topic of gossip. But as much as she may want to choose to ignore the stories people have been spreading about her, she’d never actively choose to be ignorant, especially when she’s being bombarded by the information first thing in the morning.

She’s learned her lesson the hard way.

“And pray tell, what _exactly_ have you been hearing about me, then?”

Puck runs a hand through his Mohawk once, grin firmly in place, still leaning against the locker beside hers. “I know why you’ve been rejecting this,” flexing one of his biceps, “right here, QFab. You’re all about the lady-lovin’. No harm, no foul. I get that.”

“You’ve been hearing that,” a pause, and then a small bite on her lower lip, “I’m all about the lady loving?”

“Uh huh,” Puck nods. “Like I said, I approve. Hundred and ten percent.”

“You mean, people have been talking about me being,” she licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, “gay?”

Puck’s grin grows even wider if that’s possible. “You have quite the reputation with the ladies, if you wanna know.”

“I have a – _what kind_ of reputation, exactly?”

“Only the best kind,” Puck says, teasingly waggling his eyebrows. He proceeds to pat her on the shoulder. “What can I say? The Puckzilla’s actually a little threatened. But don’t tell anyone I said that or I’ll deny it.”

“I’m – I – I, uh, actually don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me how many booty you’ve tapped last year.”

“I’m not giving you the answer to that.”

Puck pouts. Actually pouts. “Why not?”

Quinn looks at him for a second, before turning back to close her locker. “Why should I?”

“Well, we’re bros now, Fabray. Whatever you’re doing; I support it. Ask Santana. I’m all about girls going down and dirty with each other!”

“We are not –” She places the now-filled bag firmly on her shoulder, as she turns to Puck in amusement. “Puck, I’m _not_ your bro. And I really doubt Santana’s also your bro.”

“Of course, she’s not. Santana’s a bitch. But you? Well,” he holds out a fist to be bumped in a universal symbol of _bro_ -hood, “we can be bros, right? You’re not as much of a bitch, and you’re just as hot. Not to mention, you get under Berry’s skin like no one else’s business.”

She looks at the held out fist, and then at Puck’s grinning face, and walks away with a smile, shaking her head. “Goodbye, Puck. See you in glee.”

Instead of leaving her to walk to his own class, he opts to walk beside her, conversation apparently not yet over. “Last time someone got Berry as challenged was with Jesse St. Douchebag. And you know what happened there? She lost her virginity to him. Just sayin’.”

“Rachel is as straight as a ruler,” a scoff.

Puck takes an extra step forward, effectively blocking Quinn’s path. “Yeah. Shame.” And with a wink, he walks the opposite direction with a hollered, “Bye, Fabgay!” as the school bell rings indicating the start of class.

________________________________________ 

“Heard they’re giving you the female lead when Giselle graduates next year,” Andrea Cohen had said after a grueling Vocal Adrenaline practice, three weeks before they would take the stage for Nationals. Andrea had been one of the most talented members of their show choir and Quinn had always thought that the other girl was the shoe in for female lead once Giselle finally leaves for conservatory and the spot is left empty. Andrea’s words had been news to Quinn.

“I’m not sure that’s true, Andrea,” she had replied at the time, having heard of the rumor for the first time.

“Oh, it is. I heard Gis and Golsby talking yesterday. You pretty much have the spot, Quinn.”

For a moment, Quinn had felt that surge of happiness in her heart. It was unexpected, sure, but she was confident in her abilities enough to know that if what Andrea had said were true, then she was nothing but deserving of the recognition.

That was until the other girl had leaned closer and whispered, “I was going to congratulate you, but of course we both know why you’re really getting the position, right?”

At the time, she hadn’t known what the proper reply was, or what was hidden behind the malicious smile that graced the other girl’s face.

Andrea Cohen had taken a few steps away, until she turned around abruptly with a, “Tell me, Quinn. Just how much money exactly does your family give the local Baptist church every year?”

“What – what are you talking about?”

“I mean, I know your family’s pretty wealthy, but I’m sure your father spends a fortune maintaining that pristine Fabray name.” There had been a smile pasted on Andrea’s face, but her eyes had nothing resembling a smile to them. “I can only imagine how your father’s reaction might be when he finds out his precious little Quinn is a dyke.”

Quinn had frozen as _that word_ tumbled out of Andrea’s lips, and completely turned her world around for the second time in less than a year. Fear had started filling her insides as she felt the beginning of a panic attack. “I’m not – I don’t – You – _You can’t prove that._ ”

“Is that a challenge, Fabray? I _like_ challenges.”

“N-no. I’m just – Y-you can’t prove that I’m…that I’m –”

“Fucking a girl behind your devout parents’ backs?” Quinn had watched as Andrea Cohen walked careful, deliberate steps closer, until their faces were right in front of each other. “Watch me.”

“What do you want from me?” She hated that her voice was trembling but she was on the verge of crying, and she was starting to tremble.

“You think I’ll just let it go while you steal my solos and my spot from me because…what? _You’re fucking our star?!_ ” 

“That’s n-not t-true!”

“What’s not true?” Andrea had replied with the most menacing sneer Quinn had ever seen on anyone’s face. “That you keep stealing what’s mine? Or that you’re fucking –”

“Andrea!” a voice resonated down the halls, and as Andrea had looked back to see who had called her, Quinn could do nothing but stand there, still frozen, heart palpitating like it was about to explode any second.

“Andrea! What are you doing there? Come on, let’s go!”

“Coming!” And just before walking down to her friends, Andrea had turned one last time to a quivering Quinn Fabray. “See you, Quinn. And regards to your _proud_ father.”

That had been the start of one of the longest nights in Quinn’s life.

(end of chapter four.)

**Author's Note:**

> Because there are not enough HBIC!Rachel fics out there, I thought maybe I should make an attempt to add something to the mix.


End file.
